


Functionism, Polyhex

by boltshok



Series: Landguard + Icefall [in-universe chronological order] [8]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fist Fights, Functionalism (Transformers), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 10:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22968673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltshok/pseuds/boltshok
Summary: “ ‘Form dictates our function,’ “ he quotes. “I read his book. Towards Peace. He made some pretty good points.”
Relationships: Icefall/Landguard, OC/OC
Series: Landguard + Icefall [in-universe chronological order] [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650709





	Functionism, Polyhex

“What do you think about all of these flyers?”

Landguard swings their joined hands back and forth, still taking in all of the shops they’re passing by. “What flyers?”

“Those, on the wall,” Icefall says, gesturing on the upswing to a series of posters on the wall.

Landguard looks up and then veers off to look closer, Icefall tagging along behind. He reads the poster nearest him closely, then glances back at Icefall. “Functionism?”

“ ‘Form dictates our function,’ “ he quotes. “I read his book. Towards Peace. He made some pretty good points.”

“Huh. I’ve never really... felt that way,” Landguard says, glancing over the other posters. “Form dictates our function. What we turn into gives us our jobs? Sure, if you turn into a mining vehicle or a microscope. Need to put those gifts to use.”

Icefall thinks for a minute on this and then takes Landguard’s hand again. “I’ll show you the book when we get home.”

Landguard leans in and kisses his cheek. Icefall giggles softly and takes one of the posters down and subspaces it before following Landguard back out to the street.  
...  
“See! Towards Peace. I wish I could’ve had it autographed.”

Landguard takes the datapad in his hands and opens the first chapter, scrolling through it. “If you say so,” he grumbles, making the text larger and reading more carefully. “This seems awfully... dull.”

“Just try it,” Icefall tells him, dragging his hand over Landguard’s arm. “I’m going to go sit and think about my ability for a little while.”

“I’ll be in... soon...” Landguard mumbles, still trying to get a grasp on what he’s reading. “Think hard.”

Icefall vents sarcastically and walks down the hall to the exercise room. He sits down on one of the yoga mats, facing the hall enough to see Landguard from his position sitting on the berth struggling to read.  
...  
After a couple breems, Landguard growls and stands up, marching towards the exercise room. Icefall opens his optics and looks up at him, taking in his EM field reading frustration-agitation.

“You okay?” he asks.

Landguard drops the datapad onto the mat and turns back around, walking into the berthroom. He’s gone for several minutes, and Icefall does his best to give him space. He’s frustrated about something. The reading?

When he returns, he has calmed down significantly. “I have trouble reading.”

“Reading?” Icefall asks, picking up the datapad. “Like...”

Landguard looks away, fists balling up in embarrassment. “It doesn’t make sense. I read stuff and it just... doesn’t make sense.”

He sits on Icefall’s mat and leans against his shoulder, facing away. “Makes me feel stupid,” he mutters.

Icefall rubs his shoulder gently, then turns on the datapad and scrolls up to the top of the chapter. “You’re not a stupid mech,” he says, leaning over and kissing Landguard’s shoulder. “Has it always been that way?”

“Yeah.”

Icefall sets the datapad aside and leans backwards, letting Landguard slide down into his lap. He still tries to look away, but when Icefall starts tracing out the glossy edges of his chest armor with his fingertips he looks up at him.

“Hi,” Icefall says, leaning down and rubbing noses with Landguard. It only takes a few kliks for Landguard to smile back at him and giggle, rubbing his nose right back against Icefall’s.

“Would you read it to me?” he asks, gazing up at him.

“I’d love to,” Icefall says, reaching over and picking up the datapad again. “Here, shuffle around, get comfy.”

They rearrange themselves, Landguard in between Icefall’s legs and leaning against his chest while Icefall props himself up on an athletic pillow.

“From where do we derive function?”  
...  
“Alright, alright. Any more and my processor’s gonna fizzle out,” Landguard groans, sitting forward. Icefall had just finished the third chapter. “That’s some gnarly stuff.”

“I knew you would like it!” Icefall squeals giddily, setting the datapad aside and wrapping his arms around Landguard’s chest. Laughing, Landguard grabs onto Icefall’s arms and falls sideways, tangling themselves up in a pile of frames and armor.

There’s a soft knock on the door and the house servant peeks inside. “Icefall? Landguard? Time for supper.”

“We’ll be right there!” Icefall chirps, and the servant glances down the hall at them piled up on the floor, then turns and exits, covering their laughter with a soft cough.  
...  
“So they’re having a rally here tonight?” Landguard asks, giving the shabby warehouse building a once over. “Are you sure?”

Icefall shows him the poster he took, running his finger under the address. “That’s here.”

“If you say so,” Landguard says, looking back at the building. “Let’s go in...?”

Icefall nods and subspaces the poster, taking Landguard’s hand and leading him on. In the night’s darkness, Landguard nearly blends into the darkness with his matte paint while Icefall stands out like a twinkling star.

:If we aren’t immediately killed for coming to such a slag part of town I think I’m going to take you to a nice rooftop bar after this: Landguard pulses suggestively, watching the biolights twinkling between Icefall’s armor.

Glancing back at him Icefall grins and pushes the warehouse door open.

Inside is a shifting crowd of mecha, attention enraptured by a well-built white and black mech standing on an energon crate in the middle of the warehouse. He has red and gold accents along his helm, arms, and chest, and a strange violet marking on his chest.

“Mechs!” he calls over the crowd. “We’re gathering in ever-greater numbers for the coming revolution. Not many of you will recognize me but I was forged right here in our very own Rodion. I had no chance to become anything but trash until he took me in.”

Even without mentioning a name, the crowd screams cheers back at him. Icefall’s grip tightens on Landguard and he looks over at him with growing worry.

“That’s right! Megatron seeks unity for all of us, no matter our alt-mode! What we become is up to us, not a rulebook!”

Another raucous cheer shakes the warehouse, and in a moment of surprise at the noise Icefall’s lights surge in brightness. The blink of light draws the leader’s attention, and he turns his piercing red optics on him.

“Even those of higher standing have come to recognize our need,” he says, gesturing to Icefall and Landguard. “Tell us, what do you turn into?”

Landguard clams up at the direct attention, and in his panic a bead of perspiration trickles down his forehead.

“...cars,” Icefall volunteers weakly, looking around at all the lower-caste workers turning to face them.

“Even simple automobiles have uses beyond transportation,” the mech on the crate tells them. “My alternate mode is but a car and I am proud! Are you proud?”

“Y-Yes, uh— sir?” Icefall gulps, and Landguard’s grip tightens on his hand. At the formal title, a strange hush falls over the crowd.

:What did you bring us to?: Landguard whispers.

“No need for formalities,” the white mech says, bowing at the hip to them. “My name is Deadlock, given to me by Megatron himself.”

At the mention of the gladiator’s name the crowd screams back at him, raising their fists.

“Megatron!”

“Megatron!”

“Megatron!”

Landguard takes an unsteady step backwards and Icefall follows him, swallowing hard.

“Yes, well, thank you for your hospitality,” Icefall blurts, turning for the door. Two big construction workers step in front of the opening, crossing their arms menacingly.

“Leaving so soon?” Deadlock croons, dismounting the crate and wading through the crowd towards them.

:Icefall, we need to go: Landguard pulses, and Icefall looks over at him with concern.

:How?:

Landguard looks back at Deadlock, still advancing on them. :Can- Can you blink again? The lights, make them bright. Could you blind them?:

Icefall looks between the construction mechs and Deadlock and then closes his optics tightly. His lights flicker in intensity, up-down, up-down, up-down—

“You aren’t thinking of leaving now, are you?”

Landguard grabs Icefall’s arm and pulls him behind his back, shielding him from the gleam in Deadlock’s optics.

“We were only curious,” Landguard says, forcing his tongue to work, mouth to speak. “We didn’t mean anything.”

“And we mean everything,” Deadlock purrs, cracking his knuckles. “What do you say, mechs? Send a little warning back to the elite rust of the world?”

With the crowd screaming behind him, Deadlock beckons to the construction mechs. “Let’s have fun.”

One grabs Icefall, the other Landguard, and after Deadlock throws the first punch the crowd starts to form a ring. Landguard and Icefall struggle in the grip of the much stronger construction mechs, but can’t quite escape the ring of jeering mecha looking on. Deadlock might not be the biggest mech, but his frame hides an inner power that hurts to receive. Landguard’s shoulders burn where the construction mech holds him, and no amount of jerking away brings relief. Icefall flails helplessly and one of the lights in his face blinks and dims when the underlying circuitry is damaged.

A roundhouse kick to the helm knocks Landguard unconscious, and without the constant input from his spark Icefall panics and his processor crashes moments later.

The last thing he sees is Deadlock’s armored fist in his face.  
...

...black.

...darkness, to be precise. Darkness? Where’s the lights?

“Ic’fall... I’thfall, wake up...”

Rolling over onto his back, Icefall’s optics slowly refocus on the high ceiling above them. Morning light is streaming in through the open windows near the roof, and it takes several kliks for the world to stop spinning.

“Landguard,” he breathes, chest inflating with a desperately needed breath of air.

His ventilations cough and then pick up once more, stabilizing as his frame onlines completely. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Icefall grabs his helm as his vision swims. Retching, he empties what little dinner he still had in his tanks from the night previous onto the floor.

Landguard lies face down a few paces away from him, and through damaged optics he stares at Icefall.

“What... what happened?” Icefall rasps, swallowing around the dryness in his throat. “What...”

His face hurts so much. It’s a burning, constant pain, nothing like the rest of his wounds from last night. Reaching up, he brushes his fingertips over it and they come away covered in energon.

“ ‘Sa... Decep... icons... Decep’icons...” Landguard moans, finally gathering the power to move, pushing himself up bit by bit onto his hands and knees.

Icefall watches him rise and hold out a hand to help him up despite the cracks in his optical glass and damages over the rest of his frame. He’s missing some pieces of armor—upon closer inspection, so is Icefall himself—and his face looks... wrong. Broken.

Landguard waves with his hand and Icefall realizes he hasn’t moved to take it yet. He reaches out and Landguard pulls him slowly to his feet.

“You need a doctor,” Icefall says, looping his arm around Landguard and giving him a shoulder to lean on. “Come on, we should go... I’ll call... emergency...”

Together, they stumble out into the morning light.  
...  
“Yes, we brought them in early this morning. Icefall called for an emergency medical transport in the Rodion district. We only went because, well. Because he’s your son.”

“And what exactly happened out there?” Icefall’s sparker, Snowdrift, asks, following the nurse quickly back to the medrooms. “A fight?”

“It’s hard to tell. Without his bonded conscious Icefall hasn’t been very clear.”

Snowdrift nods and looks through the window of the medroom they’ve stopped in front of. Inside, Landguard and Icefall lay on separate berths that are pressed together to make a larger platform. They both have fresh welds and fixes all over their frames and Icefall has a bandage taped over half of his face.

“What happened to... to his face?” Snowdrift asks.

“One of his lights burst, unfortunately,” the nurse says. “Self-repair is hard at work, but it’s not something we can fix here, now. It may heal by itself.”

Snowdrift crosses his arms and studies Icefall through the window. “Where were they found?”

“In Rodion near the Dead End.”

“That’s so...”

The nurse watches him trail off and turns his attention to Icefall through the window. “He’s allowed visitors if you want to go in.”

Snowdrift nods, clearly occupied with his thoughts. After a minute, the nurse leaves him there in front of the door to check on another patient down the hall. Several minutes of contemplation pass Snowdrift by before he opens the door to the medroom and steps inside. Icefall looks his way, then sits a little straighter.

“Sparker,” he whispers, voice faint and tired.

“Yes, it’s me, Brighteyes,” Snowdrift says, sitting on the edge of his berth and pulling Icefall into his arms. This close he can feel the shakiness of Icefall’s frame firsthand and he embraces him protectively. His son... his only mechling...

“It was awful,” Icefall whispers into his chest.

“Mm? What was, little one?”

“Watching him stare at me,” Icefall whimpers, clinging tightly to Snowdrift’s frame. “Never want to go back there again...”

“Where were you?”

“...in the dark.”

Snowdrift pets his helm and sighs. The nurse was right. He isn’t making much sense right now.

“Are you tired, Brighteyes?”

“Yes,” Icefall whispers. “Tired, I’m... tired.”

“Alright. Why don’t you rest some more? I’ll see you in a few orns.”

“Okay...”

Helping Icefall settle back against the pillows propping him upright, Snowdrift pets his helm until he’s dozing before standing up and looking them over. Landguard had the most injuries. He likely took the brunt of whatever beating they received.

Hopefully when he wakes up more information will come to light.


End file.
